All About You
by It's-A-Passion
Summary: They were supposed to save the world quietly—no one was supposed to know that an evil megalomaniac god of time was hell-bent on destroying the planet. But Maggie, with her sweet curves and short temper, was proving difficult to keep in the dark. [HerryOC if the show wasn't aimed at a younger audience]
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** They were supposed to save the world quietly—no one was supposed to know that an evil megalomaniac god of time was hell-bent on destroying the planet. But Maggie, with her sweet curves and short temper, was proving difficult to keep in the dark. [ _HerryOC_ | if the show wasn't aimed at a younger audience]

 _ **All about you**_ **| Chapter 1 | Maggie**

Hamilton city, Canada.

Maggie Galanos was the kind of girl who—after being conditioned by perhaps the nosiest mother in the world—automatically, and rather bluntly at times, told the truth. It had become her default setting such that she said what she thought more often than not, and she seemed to mostly be lacking a filter between her brain and her mouth. (She wasn't sure how exactly her mother always seemed to know the truth, but Maggie put it down to a mix of uncanny maternal instincts and her own poor acting abilities.)

Add to that the fact that she had a short fiery temper and an easily provoked nature, and it meant that she was of a disposition prone to outbursts that were inherently hellcat-ish. Though, her best friend would swear that her bark was worse than her bite. Mostly this meant that she was almost always transparent and forthcoming and didn't have the time or patience for any other bullshit.

High School, unfortunately, was a breeding ground for all that other bullshit; lies, scandals, _angst_. By the time Maggie was halfway through her freshman year, she was already done with it. Walking down the corridors was like wading through a cesspool of crap Maggie didn't want to deal with or get involved in. She honestly couldn't wait for the independence of university and showing up to lectures where she didn't know everyone else in the room.

Her dire outlook on high school was probably the reason why she was trying to hold onto the last vestiges of sleep that morning; to put off the inevitable. But then her phone rang. Maggie knew it could only be her best friend, Liz Fairchild, calling—she was the only one who wouldn't have a single problem with calling Maggie at an ungodly 7:01am. As much as she didn't want to acknowledge it, Liz was a morning person. And in Maggie's current tired and irritated state, she mused that they were undoubtedly the worst kind of people.

The muted tune of 'My Gun' continued to blare from her phone.

Groaning dramatically, Maggie somehow pulled her arm from the mess of sheets and blankets covering her and felt around blindly, keeping her eyes shut and desperately holding onto a deep determination to continue sleeping. Her fingertips connected with the vibrating phone hidden between two pillows, and a small part of Maggie wanted to click the decline button and relish in the following silence.

But she knew that would only provoke the beast, and she'd call back again and again with a vengeance. So Maggie gritted her teeth and answered the phone with the most pleasant greeting she could muster. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"And good morning to you too, sunshine," Liz replied drily, and Maggie made a face at her pillow at how _awake_ she sounded.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Maggie grunted, her voice slightly muffled amongst the bedding.

"I secretly enjoy your emotional anguish and pain," she quipped nonchalantly, and Maggie could just picture her talking on the phone, styling her hair and likely plotting world domination at the same time. She was _that_ kind of scary-organised and efficient.

"I fucking knew it."

" _Language_ ," Liz _tsked_ mockingly before laughing. "C'mon, it's seven-oh-three and you said you'd pick me up on your way to school this morning."

"Ugh." On the other end, Maggie could hear the familiar pinging noise as Liz shook a bottle of nail polish. "Are you painting your nails? How do you have time for that?"

"Unlike some," Liz replied pointedly, "I don't leave myself with just enough time to roll out of bed and pull on some clothes."

Maggie glared suspiciously at her phone even though Liz couldn't see it. That had been her exact plan. "What are you? Because you're not human."

Liz rolled her eyes. Maggie could tell. "Just hurry up and get ready for school."

"You're so bossy." Maggie grunted and did not move from her warm, squishy bed. "Why do they even have school so early? Everyone knows teenagers go to bed later and sleep in longer than anyone else, and yet the department of education insists on ruining our lives."

"Dramatic," Liz noted, before continuing, "but don't tell me that's your convoluted way of telling me you're thinking of ditching on the first day back at school."

Maggie snorted. " _Please_. My mother would find out, and I choose life, thanks."

"Good. Now get out of bed—that's right, I know you too damn well—and get your butt up and ready for school." There was a pause. "Don't make me call your mother instead."

" _Fine_ ," Maggie groaned, somehow rolling herself into an up-right position. "You fight dirty."

"Whatever is necessary. I'll see you in half an hour. Thanks babe."

Maggie dropped her phone back on her pillow and surveyed her room, running a hand through her knotted, messy hair. With the curtains pulled closed, it was deceivingly dark and Maggie could almost trick herself into thinking it was still nighttime. But the barest amount of light managed to creep through, blinding yellow at the edges and gaps, and Maggie sighed, reaching up and across her bed to pull one curtain open. She immediately winced and regretted her decision, but it needed to be done. Otherwise, she'd be in serious danger of falling back asleep.

Maggie trudged her way to a shower, grabbing a singlet and pair of paint-stained jeans, and a couple minutes later she emerged from the steamy bathroom, clean and clothed. Maggie wasn't big on makeup except a couple coatings of mascara, and there was no way she was taming her curls into a smooth and sleek hairstyle without some serious time and effort with a hair straightener, so her usual morning routine could be timed to approximately 22 minutes. She made her way downstairs to grab a piece of fruit and make up a thermos of matcha before grabbing her canvas book-bag and heading to the garage.

Their garage had been converted into an art studio years ago by Maggie's mother. As an avid artist herself, the studio was a mess of paints and canvases and half-finished paintings. There was a storage cupboard in the corner and shelving around the room occupied by almost every medium of art you could think of. It was Maggie's most favourite place.

Maggie's mother, Sylvia—though her friends called her Sylvie—sat on a three legged stool, her black curls threaded with grey were piled into a messy bun and an oversized smock swamped her frame. Paintbrushes stuck out haphazardly from her bun. They both had the same brown eyes, though Sylvia's were ringed with fine lines, and they both had the same small, slightly upturned nose. If the fact that Maggie was almost the spitting image of her mother didn't convince you they were related, then their shared love of art had to.

"Mum," Maggie called, "I'm going to school."

Maggie's mother set down her paintbrush in a cup of water, "oh, sweetheart, is that the time already?"

"Unfortunately."

Maggie's mother sent her a knowing smile as she stood up and pulled off her smock. She managed an art gallery in the middle of the city and would need to leave very soon herself to be ready for open. Maggie's eyes jumped to the new canvas sitting on the easel, the beginnings of a new painting in the works. Faint sketched lines and the beige/tan of skin were all that was there so far. "You trying portraits again?"

Maggie's mother placed a kiss on the side of Maggie's forehead as she headed for the house. "Yes, I was feeling that mood. Try and have a good day."

 _Try_ was the operative word. "You too. See you this afternoon."

…..

"Are you an _idiot_? Seriously? _Seriously?_ In what world is it a good idea to _walk out in front of a car_?" Maggie was yelling at the idiot in question, one hand waving about emphatically, the other gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were turning white.

Beside her, Liz raised an eyebrow at her, her voice deadpan as she surveyed the chaos of the school parking lot with a comparatively calmer eye. Where Maggie was all hot-headed, Liz kept a level head; all cool, calm and collected, even in the most disorderly of situations. "Chill, Mags. He can't even hear you."

"I could've killed him," Maggie grumped, throwing a glare at the guy as he continued on his way, unaware of her shouting. To be honest, with the school car park so packed that they were all moving along at a snail's pace, the most amount of damage she could've done would only be some bumps and bruises. But it was the _principle_ of the matter.

You don't walk out in front of a car. The world was full of fools all trying to get themselves killed and give Maggie a lifetime of therapy.

" _So dramatic_." Liz grinned and rolled her eyes, flipping her sleek blonde hair over her shoulder as she looked at Maggie. Liz was the kind of long-limbed that was willowy and graceful, with fingers just made for playing the piano. She was always neatly presented—tidily manicured hands, perfectly coifed hair that was never out of place, clothing that had no stains. Maggie envied it sometimes. "Look on the bright side; you'd—,"

"—probably be doing the world a favour? We don't need that kind of stupid walking around and polluting the gene pool."

Liz snorted a laugh, and it was the only not-so-tidy thing about her.

"Oh, _stop_ ," she admonished Maggie lightly. Liz was far more amicable than Maggie—friendly and welcoming and _understanding_ , and an ideal candidate for school captain. _Bleh_. Liz was involved in school; she joined the groups, she did the extra-curricular activities. Every now and then, she managed to pull Maggie into them too, only by reminding her that it would look good on her college applications.

Liz eyed Maggie's disheveled, most likely un-brushed mass of wild black curls, and the tension in her shoulders, knowing she was not a morning person. "Drink some more of that gross tea you like."

Maggie sent her an outraged glare that Liz was expecting—it was why she'd said 'gross'. It got a rise out of Maggie—it was always too easy to get a rise out of Maggie. Defensively, the grumpy black-haired teen said, "matcha is _good_."

"It's bitter," Liz said, raising an eyebrow behind her horn-rimmed glasses.

Maggie grinned, showing teeth. "Like my soul then."

Liz shook her head, laughing. " _Please_. You painted flowers on your walls and sleep with about a million teddy bears. You're hardly _bitter_."

"And you better keep that information to yourself," Maggie threatened dangerously. "I have a reputation to maintain."

Liz snorted, smiling so that her almond-shaped eyes crinkled in the corners. "You're delusional."

"How dare you."

Liz was, honestly, the complete opposite of Maggie, and not just physically though those differences were stark in comparison. While Liz was slim and together looking, Maggie was just a mess. A few stubborn pounds over voluptuous, Maggie had curves on top of her curves and a little pouch of stomach fat that became too-noticeable for her liking when she sat down. Her hair was just a big pile of curls _everywhere_ , she was impishly short (her mum said what she lacked in height, she made up for with her temper), her cheeks too round and rosy and her eyes were too large on her face, almost disconcertingly owl-like.

Maggie just knew Liz had probably gotten up and gone for a run and been up for hours doing study at her organized desk in her tidy room where she doubted things were ever out of place except for when Maggie came over.

Not for the first time, Maggie was amazed that they'd managed to stay friends despite their inherent differences. But then, what made them different to each other was what the other person liked most about them. They rarely had the same taste in clothes or boys or music, but they knew the other better than anyone else did. They had been best friends since the sandpit days when Billy Thomson had been running around telling everyone that Liz had farted and Maggie called him a _big fat liar_.

Maggie continued to glare through her front windscreen. "Keep your eyes peeled for a car park."

The first day back at school was always a nightmare. The front of the building and surrounding area were swarming with students lingering about, attempting to put off the inevitable much like Maggie had that morning. Which was understandable—no one wanted to take those first steps through the front doors. It would be like admitting defeat. Giving up.

The only thing was, it made trying to get a park a long and arduous task, and as someone with a short temper, the process was almost painful. There were students walking everywhere, uncaring that there were cars around. There were cars taking up two parking spots because the owner clearly couldn't park straight to save their life, or because they were saving valuable car spaces for their friends. There were impromptu games of football being played, and couples making out on cars, parents trying to drop their kids off on their way through to work. It was a goddamn nightmare.

And to top it all off, there was this massive monstrosity of a vehicle moving along in front of her, making it almost impossible to see anything else ahead or around it. She just had to blindly follow along behind it. Maggie had never seen the red truck before, not that she paid all that much attention to the other cars her fellow students had, but she felt like with that beast at least, she would've remembered. It had to be twice the size of any other car in the whole parking lot. It was ridiculous. Who was in there—the entire hockey team?

Another student thought it would be a good idea to walk out in front of Maggie's car and cross the road, and she huffed, irritated, resisting the urge to roll down her window and yell. Instead, she glared, hoping he would feel the heat of her stare burning him through his clothing.

And, perhaps, if she hadn't been so focused on glaring at the unknown student, she wouldn't have nearly rear-ended that goddamn red truck when he decided to brake suddenly to turn into a park. The key word here was 'nearly'.

But then again, perhaps the red truck didn't need to brake quite so suddenly. Like there were no other cars around. Like she was not patiently following behind him trying not to think about the fact that she couldn't see a damn thing up ahead because it practically blocked out the sun.

So the jerk in the massive red truck broke, and Liz yelled, " _look out!_ " at the same time Maggie yelled, " _fuck!_ ".

When they came to a stop, Maggie's bonnet was only a couple centimeters from the truck's tow bar, and she was breathing heavily, her heart pounding hard in her chest. They were frozen for a second, Liz silent and Maggie's already too-wide eyes even wider, her mouth slack, fingers cramping on the steering wheel. The last thing she needed was to get into a low-speed car collision in the school parking lot on the first day back at school. _God_.

The shock slowly died down, her racing heart slowing. And as her fear-tinged surprise disappeared, anger took its place. The early morning wake-up, the stupid students walking in front of cars, the million things she needed to watch for that made her stress something chronic welled up until she was practically seething.

She had road rage. She knew it. They always touted the first step as being an admission that you had a problem, and Maggie admitted it freely.

" _For fuck sake_ ," Maggie yelled, angrily jerking the wheel in quick motions and driving around the massive red truck. One hand was up in the air, waving about with angry pointing, as they passed and she turned her head to glare viciously at the driver. The windows were too tinted to see in, and it almost made it worse not being able to put a face to the driver. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?"

"Calm down Mags, it's okay," Liz managed to say over Maggie's anger, "you didn't hit him."

"Who even gave that asshole his fucking license? Jesus Christ." She shook her head, her voice lowering now that they'd passed the driver. She shook her head, muttering, "Fucking braking like that, what the fuck?"

They moved to the other end of the car park, passing multiple empty spots just so Maggie could get as far away from the red truck as possible lest the mere sight of it fuel her anger.

She hadn't had enough fucking tea to deal with this shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much to those who reviewed! I really appreciate it!**

 _ **All about you**_ **| Chapter 2 | Herry**

Herry found out he was stronger than the average person when he was nine years old.

He'd wanted to go play with the other children on the neighboring property but his Gran had said no because he still had chores to do. To nine year old Herry, this seemed like the epitome of unfairness and the tantrum had burst forth quickly. He'd stormed outside towards the barn, kicking dirt and straw about and grumbling to himself before he huffed himself up and kicked the old tractor. He did not expect it to flip onto its side with a loud bang and scare a bunch of nearby chickens into hysterical flapping. He probably should've been frozen with shock, because what nine year old could do _that_ , but instead Herry panicked and his anger dissipated quickly as he ran around the other side of the tractor to lift it back up, worried he'd get in trouble for breaking it.

It wasn't broken though, thankfully, and the momentary panic had been enough to bring him out of his mood. He finished up his chores and ate dinner with his Gran and it wasn't until later when he was lying in bed that he realized just how weird what he'd done had been. He knew he shouldn't have been able to even shift the several ton tractor, let alone topple it on its side. Was something wrong with him? Was he a freak?

He tossed and turned all night and eventually resolved not to tell anyone, not even his Gran, because what if he got in trouble? What if they took him away and he could never see his Gran again, or the farm? He had no one else and Gran had no one else; it had always been Herry and his Gran, and he wasn't going to let that change. He'd just have to be careful. He could do that.

It turned out, being careful was a lot easier than he thought it would be. Any heavy lifting usually occurred on their farm, when there was no one else around, and so there had never been any cause for anyone to find out. The biggest struggle in hiding his incredible strength from everyone came when he decided to join the school wrestling team; he always made sure he was overly aware of how much strength he was using at a time, his focus always split between holding back and learning the moves and positions. And if he slipped up occasionally, well it helped that he was tall and broad for his age, easily developing muscles everywhere, so that he really was a bit of a giant compared to the other boys. By the time Herry was sixteen, he'd accepted it as part of who he was and accommodated it into everyday life.

He'd always wondered though: _why_? Why _him_? Why _strength_? Why was he like _that_?

But now, it all made sense. It was like his whole life he'd had this amazing ability but for no reason at all; an aimless, irrational ability; an anomaly in his life's continuum. Now though, he had that reason; he had that purpose, and the world seemed to shift into focus, his direction clear, and everything made sense. _This_ was why.

He was supposed to save the world.

…

Herry wasn't sure why he was surprised that even prophesized saviors of the world against an evil megalomaniac God of time had to go to school. Like, he had this big, important mission where literally the fate of humanity relied on him and his friends, and yet, he still needed to attend school for seven hours of his day like a normal teenager and learn things like _trigonometry_. Trigonometry wasn't going to save them; it wasn't the key to defeating Cronus. Trigonometry wasn't doing shit for him except giving him a headache.

Hera had explained that there would be an _after_ and that was why it was important to continue to go to school. One day, _after_ they defeated Cronus and saved the world, they would still need to have finished high school. They would still need to be able to do the basic things school taught them, still need to have that foundation for their future. So while they had to save the world, the gods were making sure their futures were safe as well.

Begrudgingly, Herry thought this made sense.

He still would've preferred to have skipped out on the trig though.

He sat at the empty desk in the back of the classroom trying to pay attention anyway. His eyes kept drifting out the window though, his mind full of his recent encounter with Cronus and his typhoeus. That shit had been crazy and he couldn't help thinking how a class on ancient Greek mythological beasts would be a lot more useful to them than math.

"…and who can tell me the next step in this problem…" the teacher called over the students heads.

Herry mentally shook himself and tried to refocus on the teacher; he'd forgotten her name already and glanced down at his schedule to check. Ms. Johnson. Ms. J had equations written across the board and he quickly tried to copy them out into his notebook before she erased the old ones to make room for the new ones. Ms J was probably in her mid-to-late forties, was a little bit frumpy looking with her one-size-too-big cardigan and slightly smudged lipstick, but her face was kind.

Herry glanced around. Theresa was next to him on his left, leaning forward over her notebook, her writing small and quick. Archie was across the room, a scowl settled on his face as he scribbled heavily and harshly.

To be perfectly honest, Herry wasn't the biggest fan of school—never had been, really. It just wasn't his thing; he was never really sure where he fit and it had never really bothered him because he was more than content to work the farm; a simple farm boy at heart. The others though; he saw where they fit, saw where they could slip into place like pieces of a puzzle, so seamless in finding their _thing_. Super-brain Odie falling in with the science nerds; preppy Jay shaking hands with the overly ambitious future Class Captain kids; popular Theresa finding her space with the cool kids; brooding Archie meeting the loners; sporty Atlanta joining the jocks. (He honestly didn't know what kind of a niche Neil might fit in to, but any environment in which he could be the centre of attention was where Neil excelled).

What he actually did like about school was getting to hang out with his friends—and people in general, really. Herry had always found it easy to make friends—he was open, friendly and easy-going. He was the guy everyone knew; the guy invited to the parties; the guy you said hello to in the halls. He was glad that even though each of his new friends fit into different groups, so far they had stayed together; they made their own group.

So, he supposed if school was what they needed to do, then starting at a new one in the middle of the school year at least wouldn't be a drama for him. He would be able to focus all his energy on defeating Cronus without getting pulled into High School dramas or stressing about being on par academically. He should be able to cruise along, as long as he passed.

When the bell rang to signal the end of class, Ms. J called out to him, Theresa and Archie to stay behind a minute. The rest of the students filed out of the room and he stood in front of the teacher's desk. When Archie and Theresa were beside him, Ms. J pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up higher on her nose. "I know transferring to a new school can be difficult, especially when you land in the middle of a different syllabus. I'm hoping to make the transition as smooth as possible for you three, however if you need any help or would like some additional tutoring, we have a number of students in the AP Calculus class that are more than capable of helping you get up to speed. Just pop over to see the AP Calculus teacher Mr. Stevensen at some point and he'll be able to set it up for you."

"Thank you Ms. Johnson," Theresa said graciously. "We'll be sure to do that."

"I should also let you know that if I feel your grades are falling behind the rest of the class, I will personally assign you a tutor as well to make sure you stay on track," she smiled at them. Herry could see the pink stains on her teeth.

The three of them nodded in support before they exited the classroom. When they were far enough away, Theresa groaned, "well, that was basically torture."

Herry chuckled in agreement, "I have never had a headache come on so quickly."

"I'm just thankful it's lunchtime now." Archie's response was basically a grunt.

That thought brightened Herry up considerably. They made their way to their lockers, which were all clustered together with Jay, Atlanta, Odie and Neil's as well, stowing away their books and grabbing their lunches. Athena had packed them all sandwiches and fruit (or in Herry's case, three sandwiches) and they waited around for the others to show up before heading to the cafeteria.

Lunch was his favourite period of the day.

Jay and the others arrived then and they began to discuss their training that afternoon, as they headed into the cafeteria and found a table big enough for all of them. It would be one of their first proper training sessions and none of them were too sure what to expect from it. A couple people said hello to them on their way, welcoming them to Olympia High. A couple people asked if they wanted to sit with them, but those invitations were politely declined, mostly by Jay who was by far the most diplomatic. They weren't trying to separate themselves from everyone else, but they were kind of bonded; they were going through what only each other would understand. And besides, they couldn't exactly discuss Cronus and their mission around others.

As they all dug into their lunches, Neil speculated about whether training was going to ruin the state of his nails and quickly invited Theresa to a spa trip if that were the case. Theresa agreed and looked to Atlanta, who waved her off with a "no-way". Those two girls were as different as they come.

Just to tease Neil, Archie said he hoped it would be brutal, with some bruises and scrapes thrown in. Neil looked aghast at the thought of anything marring his flawless skin. Herry was grinning around his second sandwich, excited at the prospect, "I don't know but I'm ready to let off some energy after today. It feels wrong just sitting in class while Cronus is out there."

Jay clapped him on the back, "I know how you feel, bud. But school is important too—you heard what Hera said."

Atlanta snorted, "says our future _president_ ; of course you think school is important."

"Weren't you the one saying how you wanted some kind of sporting scholarship to go to college?" Jay highlighted, before raising a finger up to make his point. "And for the record, I've never wanted to be president."

"Why not?" Theresa piped up then. "You're a natural born leader. Why not aim to lead our country too, after we defeat Cronus?"

Jay shook his head. "Right now, my priority is defeating Cronus and getting through school. Any future career aspirations are not even on my radar anymore."

"Well, they should be," Theresa replied. Her and Jay were staring at each other with a little more intensity than the conversation warranted. Herry wasn't blind, and neither were the rest of them, and they all politely averted their eyes and pretended not to notice. They'd all only known each other a week, but there was something there between Theresa and Jay; unmistakable in their wandering stares and lingering touches. The rest of them had an unspoken agreement just to let it play out how it was going to; to let them figure it out themselves. "High school won't last forever."

"Thank God," Herry muttered around his last sandwich. Everyone laughed and went back to speculating on what training was going to involve.

…

Herry and Neil were waiting for Theresa to grab her English books from her locker for their next class. The others had gone ahead to save them all seats.

That was when he properly saw _her_.

He couldn't place her immediately, though her face was familiar in a glanced-at-in-passing kind of way and Herry struggled to place her. Herry couldn't believe he couldn't immediately recognize her though, considering she was like a small, angry storm cloud.

In her grey, ripped skinny jeans, black skull-and-dagger _The Rubens_ singlet and floral doc martens, she made her way down the corridor with more purpose than any high school student ought to have. Or at least, her exasperation with the other slow moving students was enough to drive her forward on decisive, if-you-get-in-my-way-I-will-bowl-you-over-and-not-give-a-shit steps. And with her eyebrows crowding low on her face in a frown, she looked plenty pissed: at the other students; at the school; at the universe for making her so short. (She couldn't be over five feet—but then again, everyone was tiny to him.). Either way, she emanated enough fierceness from her small frame that drove people to subtly, maybe unconsciously, skirt around her.

And gods damn him if it wasn't hot as hell. He was pretty sure her glare could stop even the Typhoeus in its tracks. It was almost too easy to overlook the fact that she was uncommonly short, and Herry didn't understand how someone as small as her could take up so much room, like her attitude made her seem bigger than she was, filling in the space around her. Or maybe it was the hair; the wildly curling masses of hair.

The only one that seemed to be able to crowd her, unafraid of the potential consequences of such a move, was the tall blonde girl who easily fell into step beside her. When the blonde girl nudged her arm and she didn't respond by glaring a hole in her face, Herry assumed this was the only one she permitted to move within her personal space. They walked together comfortably, like they'd done so for years, the blonde all amicability and grins, the other all kinds of curvy and surly.

When the blonde asked her a question, and when exasperation spread over her face, her arms waving around like her tolerance was nearing its limit, like she was reaching the end of her tether and ready to implode given half the chance, he finally recognized her.

The girl in the Prius.

Theresa shut her locker and turned to find Neil staring at Herry in annoyance and Herry staring off into the distance. She followed the latter's stare, an idea burgeoning in her mind. "Oh! Maggie! Hey, over here! Maggie!"

Theresa flapped her arms around at the small, scary girl in a motioning gesture and Herry quickly grabbed her arm to make her stop.

"What are you doing?" His voice was suspicious as his eyes darted over to find that yes, the girl was indeed who Theresa was calling to, and yes, she was making her way over to them.

"Nothing." Theresa grinned like she was absolutely doing something.

When the girl was standing in front of them, Theresa made her introductions.

"Maggie, this is Neil," Theresa gestured at Neil.

Neil was inspecting himself in his pocket mirror and made no effort to disengage with his own reflection beyond saying, "yeah, nice to meet you."

Theresa rolled her eyes at him before gesturing at Herry. "And this is Herry."

And then she looked at him, his words died in his mouth, and he was pretty sure he was fucked.

Because when she looked at you, she _really_ looked at you, dead-on and focused; you had her full, undivided, unwavering attention and she would see _everything_ ; every micro expression; every involuntary twitch; every single tell he had. For someone harbouring a massive secret, Herry thought this was possibly his worst nightmare made into reality and here she was, like some kind of ultimate test.

Maybe she was one of _his_ twelve labours.

Theresa started explaining how she'd met Maggie in an earlier class but Herry couldn't really focus on her. He felt stuck on the intensity Maggie radiated.

With her, there was none of that polite look, look-away, look, stuff; there was no looking beside your ear or over your shoulder when you spoke because looking straight-on would be too intense and uncomfortable. Instead, she watched with disconcertingly expectant eyes that were so green, Herry actually felt like he was being pulled in and placed in an emerald ocean. She looked and looked and looked until she sucked you right in, until _she_ was done looking. It was like pressure on his skin, pressure that was coaxing answers out of him, that was pushing the words right out of his mouth if only to meet the expectation sitting right there.

So before she'd ever said a single word to him, Herry knew he was fucked. He'd cave; he'd tell her everything; _anything_ she wanted to know, when she looked at him like that. In that way that made him uncomfortable and disorientated and desperate for more, all at once.

And she didn't even care. She walked around with those sweet curves and devastating eyes, and he was just supposed to keep his mouth shut?

Herry panicked a little and did the only thing he could think to do; he thought of his truck, and how close she'd come this morning to smashing into it. His precious truck that was like his baby; his prized truck that Hepheastus had transformed into an absolute beauty. She'd nearly ruined all that this morning. His eyes narrowed, his nose wrinkling, and irritation flared up momentarily.

 _His precious truck_.

If there was one thing Herry didn't take lightly, it was threats against his truck. He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging just so (okay, _maybe_ he was showing off just a little), and his face twisting into an unimpressed frown. "So you're the girl in the Prius who nearly rear-ended me this morning?"

He thought he may have cut Theresa off mid-sentence, if the glare was anything to go by.

But he saw the responding flare in Maggie's eyes at his words and god-damn he was fucked. She attempted civility, her lips twitching and pursing like she was resisting the urge to tell him where he could stick his truck, and he smirked in amusement. He had never seen someone's thoughts flash so clearly across their face.

Her blonde friend glanced between them and put a calming hand on Maggie's shoulder. Maggie's words were forced and awkward. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

" _Right_ ," Herry snorted and her eyes flashed back up to him.

"So that would make you the owner of that red monstrosity, then?"

Herry's frown deepened at the insult to his baby. He couldn't stop himself from looking her up and down, less in a checking her out kind of way (which he had definitely already done) but more in an evaluating kind of way. She really was a force to be reckoned with; undaunted and undeterred. She stood up straighter under his stare and he wondered if she realized she was doing it. "I think you mean that red work of art."

It was her turn to snort. "Well that _work of art_ is the only thing you can see when you're stuck behind it. And that blinding red is brighter than the brake lights. It's basically a road hazard."

"There's nothing wrong with my truck. Maybe you should move your seat closer to the brake pedal so you can actually reach it." Herry retorted.

"Herry!" Theresa warned, pulling at his bicep. She tucked her long orange hair behind her ear and laughed nervously at Maggie and her friend. "He's always a little defensive about his truck."

"Well, I doubt that I would have done any damage to your truck even if I had hit you," she snapped, not hearing Theresa's placations. "It looks like it's on steroids."

The unspoken _and so do you_ hung in the air between them but her eyes spelled it clearly enough.

Theresa's eyes widen like she was genuinely concerned about what she had started by introducing them, and Herry scoffed. "Yeah, well, that truck will probably be towing you to the nearest autoshop when you _do_ crash."

Maggie glared at him. Fuck, it was potent.

"So," Maggie's blonde friend cut in, her voice soothing, "we should all take a breath and get to class, otherwise we'll be late and some of us will say more things we don't mean." She looked pointedly at Maggie, who sighed and roll her eyes.

Theresa made quick sounds of agreement, telling the girls she would see them later and steering Herry away. He let himself be pulled away easily. Neil trailed behind, voice somewhat surprised, "talk about tension."

"You could cut through it with a knife," Theresa agreed lowly and they both shot looks at Herry. The further he got from Maggie, the more sheepish he felt. He rubbed the back of his head in an embarrassed gesture, glancing back at his friends.

"She was mean about my truck?" He said it like a question and knew the excuse sounded flimsy at best.

"Yeah… _ok_ ," Neil said, sarcastic. "Whatever you say, bud."


End file.
